Thirty 'First Times'
by Emoryems
Summary: 30 drabbles of first times for Kurt and/or Puck. Angst, sap, fluff - anything goes. Enjoy!
1. Cold

This is where I will post my 30 drabbles for the 30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles over at the Puckurt community on LJ. These will be themed as 30 "firsts" for Kurt and/or Puck, and I'm still taking prompts for the stories. You can access these here or at my LJ account (same name or link through profile). Enjoy!

~?~

30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles

Cold

Kurt's teeth chatter together harshly as another wave of shivers grip his body. He is cold. So cold that every muscle is tensing and releasing relentlessly in an attempt to raise his body's temperature.

There is snow under him, a remorseless bed of freezing hardness that has sapped every bit of warmth from him. His exposed skin, that which his clothes have ridden up to show, throbs in an odd combination of pain and numbness.

Kurt jumps a little when a sudden weight lands on his shoulder, the warmth radiating from whatever it is almost enough to burn his frozen skin. He tries to turn away but his limbs won't obey him, and when he tries to open his eyes something holds his lids together. It feels like there is a layer of ice clumping his lashes together, keeping him from seeing who or what is touching him.

"Kurt," a voice says into his ear. "Hey, it's okay, it's me. Calm down, princess."

Kurt stills the little movements he's been making to get away, turning his body slightly toward the voice. "Noah?" His voice is thin and trembling, chopped to small pieces by the jittering of his jaw.

"Yeah, it's me."

The hand on his arm moves away, leaving his skin to cool once again as it is exposed. Suddenly, though, the light weight of a jacket settles over him, the smell of Puck's cologne letting Kurt know that it is his.

Two strong arms pull Kurt forward into Puck's chest and wrap around his body, holding him firm and secure. The familiarity of the embrace chokes Kurt's throat with emotion. "What happened?" he eventually whispers.

He can remember flashes of laughing and warmth. They had been doing something, but Kurt can't remember what.

"Accident," Puck says gruffly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm fine." The timbre of his voice says otherwise.

"Noah. Please." Kurt's eyes are still stuck together, and he's starting to think that maybe it's blood that has frozen to him from some head wound. He can't tell if Noah is lying to him.

"It's nothing, babe. I hit my head and was out for a little while, that's all."

Kurt wishes he could do something other than shiver into Puck's chest, hands so cold they are stiffened and unusable.

Puck shifts and lifts himself a little, pulling away for a moment to look at something, and then he is back, holding on tighter than before.

"Can you hear them?"

"What?"

"Sirens."

Kurt pushes further into Puck's chest, sighing as he starts to feel warm for the first time since he woke up. Sirens are blaring in the distance, their piercing wails echoing throughout the landscape, and he knows they'll be there soon.

"Noah?" Kurt whispers, lips rubbing over the skin of Puck's collar.

"Yeah babe?"

"Happy first anniversary."


	2. Layered

30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles

Layered

"Don't you dare pull on that button, Puckerman."

Puck pauses in his attempt at popping the button of Kurt's jeans, fingers clenched on the material and tongue delved deep into Kurt's taut navel. He pulls away slowly, trailing his lips up a little to the sensitive spot just below Kurt's ribs, watching and feeling the muscles there trembling from the stimulation.

"Like this?" he whispers as he jerks his hand, roughly releasing the metal button through the material. The jeans are tight and when they open they spread, giving Puck a full view of Kurt's thin boxer briefs.

Kurt throws his head back with a moan, hair mussed and haloed around his head, as Puck runs his hands over Kurt's hips, thumbs brushing alongside his straining hardness. He doesn't even have the presence of mind to complain at the rough treatment of his precious clothing.

The bed around them is littered with various articles of clothing; a scarf flung purposefully over Puck's head is hanging over the edge, a jacket and two shirts curl together in a mass of well-matched colours. Puck has taken his time stripping them away from Kurt's body, eyes wandering every piece of skin that is exposed like a dehydrated man finding a clear, beautiful stream.

He can't remember when he went from hating Kurt's clothes to seeing them as an inconvenience. He certainly cannot remember when all of the layers, complicated and tied with so many different methods that Puck couldn't list them if he tried, became the best part of foreplay.

But he will always remember the way that this time, as Kurt moans and writhes beneath him, hips straining up for friction and lips rounded into a perfect 'o', is the first time he does it on purpose. With purpose.

The sight of Kurt's cloth-covered erection tenting toward him, the corresponding erection in his own underwear occasionally brushing against Kurt's jean-clad thigh, is perfect. The way Kurt undulates under him, rolling his hips sinfully to let Puck pull his jeans down his hips, is so arousing, so invigorating, that Puck wishes he could re-dress the other boy and start again.

But then Kurt's hands are on his shoulders, pulling him up into a kiss that is sloppy and filled with thrusting tongues and nipping teeth, moaning and panting as he starts a delicious rubbing against Puck. Puck runs his hands everywhere he can reach, fingers dancing over the soft smooth skin exposed for him, and he knows that as much fun as getting here is, the best part is when he has all of Kurt to himself.


	3. Laid Bare

30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles

Laid Bare

Kurt's fingers shake as he reaches up to tug at the bowtie around his neck, anxiety shuddering through him and leaving him flushed and flustered. He can almost literally feel Puck's eyes following his movements, tracing the lines of his fingers and wrists as he works to remove his clothes one article at a time.

Soon he is starting on his shirt, the light material soft against his skin, but oh so heavy in a way he can't explain – in a way that cannot be measured anywhere but in his mind. The first button slides through the material smoothly, the top of the shirt spreading just enough to expose the dip and shadow of his collarbone.

When he moves to the next button he looks up, meeting Puck's eyes from where he watches sprawled naked on the bed. His eyes are strangely intense, a kind of attention and interest in them that Kurt has never seen there before.

His shirt hangs over his chest and stomach loosely when the buttons are all undone, brushing over the tight material of his pants and the bulging line of his erection where it is trapped within. Kurt, despite the nervousness of soon being naked, laid out for Puck to see, feels spikes of arousal run through him with every glance he takes at Puck.

The other man, tanned skin glimmering with a light sheen of sweat and lip pulled between his teeth from his intense enthrallment, is beautiful. The strong lines of his muscles are etched into contours worthy of the most talented artist, his eyes two deep and mesmerizing points of desire even from across the room.

Kurt shrugs his shirt to rest at the edges of his shoulders, feels as the material starts to slip down his arms, and lets it slither to the ground, brushing over his skin as it goes. Once it is gone, once his chest is left uncovered, he licks his lips and glances out from under his lashes to see what Puck's reaction is.

Kurt knows that Puck has seen many people before; tasted their flesh and experienced their bodies. But Kurt has never been naked in front of a sexual partner, someone who wants to be with him, and who he wants to be with, before. It is his, their, first time seeing each other at their most exposed.

The bed beneath Puck shifts, sheets crumpling with his movements, as he manoeuvres to the edge of the bed and stands. He keeps their eyes locked the entire time, face blank and soft, like he's feeling too much all at once to settle on one emotion.

"Noah," Kurt breathes out softly as the larger man stands before him, hands at his side. "Is this okay?" The words ring out in the room, wavering and untrue because what Kurt really means to say is: _"Am I okay?"_

Two hands come up to rest on Kurt's upper arms, fingers grasping gently, just feeling, and Puck's gaze drops down as he takes in Kurt's upper body. Just as Puck starts to trail his hands downward, his right pointer finger pointed up and painting an imaginary design as it goes, he says, "Just right."

The movement of Puck's skin against his own sends tingles and shocks of pleasure throughout Kurt's entire body, the simple friction of familiar hands moving over his arms more intimate than anything he's experienced before. When the hands reach his wrists, fingers dancing over the bones there, they pull away.

Before disappointment can settle in Kurt's chest they return, this time holding to Kurt's hips just above the waist of his jeans, fingers tracing over his hipbones and abdomen. The juxtaposition between Puck's hands, large and calloused with thick, blunt fingers, and Kurt's body, pale and smooth, all long lines and lithe curves, strikes Kurt with a thrill of arousal.

Kurt doesn't protest when Puck's fingers find their way to the button and zip of his jeans, and leans into the hands as they slide under the band of his underwear and glide over his skin. Kurt imagines all of the places that Puck is touching as though lit up, the passing of his hands leaving exhilarating tingles of desire in their wake.

As Puck uses his hands, trapped under Kurt's garments, to push the material down and over Kurt's hips to pool at his feet, he lets out a moan. Kurt can't see his face, not really, and he flushes as he realizes that Puck is look at him. All of him.

Any nervousness he may have felt is soon extinguished, though, as Puck takes to running his hands everywhere he can. Up over his shoulders and down his sides, over the slight swell of his hips, fingers teasing the skin of Kurt's buttocks, across the long lengths of his thighs and calves. The other boy leaves no skin untouched, but the way he is almost enthralled by what he sees, the way his hands move as though awed, tells Kurt all he needs to know.

When Puck is done his exploration, face a rictus of bliss, Kurt leans forward and mouths along his neck, sucking at his pulse-point and nibbling at the underside of his jaw, until he reaches Puck's mouth. They kiss lightly, not fevered or desperate, but with passion and the knowledge that they are each what the other desires.

~?~

If you like this and want to see anything written, you can leave a prompt in the review section, through a PM, or over at my LJ - I still need 16! Thanks for reading :)


	4. BearsPierced

30 Days of Puckurt Drabbles

Bears

Sam's younger siblings are sitting in front of the TV, blonde hair reflecting the light from the screen. They are silent and enthralled, leaving Kurt and Puck their first moment of silence and ease all night.

"I can't believe it."

Kurt turns his head toward Puck, leaning into his shoulder as he asks, "Can't believe what?"

Puck looks down at him, the pucker between his brows deepening as he contemplates what is on his mind. "That there are children in the world more fascinated by Winnie the Pooh than my sister."

Kurt stifles a giggle into his hand and shakes his head in amusement. "Just be glad they aren't trying to play with your hair anymore."

Puck raises a hand and runs it over his mohawk as though to calm some imagined affront to its badassness.

The gesture is so stereotypical 'Puck' that Kurt can't help but lean forward and brush his lips over his boyfriend's cheek, loving the scratchy feel of late-evening scruff that he finds there.

Pierced

Kurt walks up to where Puck is reclined on the couch, arms folded behind his head, and steps between his boyfriends's spread legs. The worn, frayed and baggy pants contrast almost comically with Kurt's skin-tight white skinny jeans.

Puck looks up at him, the beginning of a smirk playing at his lips, and tilts his head. "What's up, babe?"

Raising one brow delicately and looking down at the bulkier man, Kurt leans forward until his lips nearly connect with Puck's, angling his head so he can place a light kiss on the corner of them. "I have a surprise for you," he whispers, voice uncharacteristically low and husky.

"Oh yeah?" Puck asks, hands unlatching from behind his head to rest on Kurt's waist. "What's that?"

Kurt pulls away and little, just enough to meet questioning brown eyes with his own, then moves forward, straddling Puck. His knees rest on either side of Puck's hips, spread wide, and his ass rests on Puck's toned thighs.

"Here," he says, threading a hand through Puck's mohawk, tugging their lips together once again, "let me show you."

Smirking against Puck's lips, Kurt uses the tip of his tongue to trace around the other man's mouth teasingly, delving deeper when the mouth he is circling opens to him. He pulls back after a quick swipe of his tongue over Puck's, and sucks Puck's low lip into his mouth.

Puck groans and moves his hips in little upward thrusts, dropping his hands to cup Kurt's ass in his palms.

As Puck squeezes his cheeks, pulling their groins tight together, Kurt releases Puck's lip, knowing that there will be a little bruise there later.

"What," Puck pants, "were you going to show me?"

Kurt nips Puck's upper lip, and then soothes the area with a light kiss. "This."

Bringing his other hand up to cup the side of Puck's face, Kurt dives into the other boy's mouth, tongue swiping a luxurious path over his answering tongue in a slick and familiar slide.

Puck gasps into the kiss and stills, pulling back a little to ask, "Is that –?"

"Yes," Kurt breathes. Kurt licks his lips, tongue curling up, and moans deep in his throat at the feeling of his tongue piercing, his first piercing, caressing both his upper and lower lips. Puck's eyes follow the movement rabidly, surprise and self-satisfaction painting his face.

"You – I thought you said you would never get one." Puck is smug as he speaks, his kiss-reddened mouth quirking up in one corner.

"Yeah, well," Kurt begins, "I may have reconsidered that decision once I thought about how useful it could be."

Eyes widening and a rush of arousal obviously peaking through his body, Puck grinds their hips together again, massaging Kurt's ass rhythmically as he does so. Kurt is playing with the barbell now, letting the tiny plastic balls run over his own lips in patterns, as though demonstrating his skill for Puck.

Kurt looks down to where their groins are pressed together through layers of clothing, erections trapped in their respective pants, and says, "Why don't we test out how useful it can be?"

Puck can't even form an answer beyond a groan of appreciation as Kurt slides off of his lap to kneel in front of him, and thinks that this is possibly the _best_ surprise ever.

~?~

Yesterday and today's drabbles.


	5. Kisses

Kisses

Shallow and shuddering breaths rasp between Kurt's lips, his hand frozen in place in front of his mouth. His eyes are wide, lashes dry and fanning outward to frame their multi-hued depths.

He can't hear any noise from the hallway outside, and the locker room is silent around him. The lack of stimulation, of distraction, leaves him alone with the burning tingle on his hips and the slow bruising of his face, the marks little points where fingers had dug in. There is a tightening in his throat and a sinking feeling, like lead dropping through water, in his stomach.

He has had many things taken from him because of the world's prejudice, but he'd never thought this would be one of them. Because he never expected Karofsky to have been on both sides of that prejudice, the pressure and the fear controlling his actions.

Using one shaking hand to support himself, Kurt lowers his body to the locker room bench and hunches forward. He starts to pull his hand away from his lips, but the second the pressure of his palm releases he slaps it back into place; without it there he feels vulnerable and exposed. Naked and – he feels like he shouldn't react this badly – dirty.

Wrapping his free hand around his waist and curling even further inward, Kurt tries to control his hitching breath. He is shaking, adrenalin still pumping through him, and his hands are icy cold. He wants to be at home where he feels safe and comfortable. Where he knows there are only people who love him and would never hurt him.

"You okay princess?"

Kurt jumps a little and looks up into Puck's questioning face. He hadn't even heard the other boy enter the room.

'Fine' is coiling at the tip of his tongue, the easy answer building more from habit than honesty. It seems to die away as it tries to pass his lips and leaves him barren, mouth open and silent.

Before he can formulate another answer, tears start to prickle at the edges of his eyes, dampening his lashes and clumping them together. A sob breaks through his shields and barriers, wracking his shoulders and composure as it rings out.

Kurt watches as Puck's eyes widen and then narrow, their brown depths burning with intensity. "What happened?" he demands, voice full of vehemence.

More sobs fight their way out of Kurt's chest as he shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Holy shit, Hummel, what did they do to you? Who was it?" Puck is angry, his words biting enough that Kurt winces a little.

Kurt has taken a lot of abuse, mentally and physically, in the halls of McKinley High, but this is the first time he's not been able to hold himself together. The tears, the sobs, those are things for showers to wash away and for pillows to muffle late at night. Others aren't supposed to see this.

When his sobs taper enough that he can concentrate, Kurt notices that Puck has come to sit next to him, close enough that their shoulders are brushing.

Kurt, for the first time since Karofsky stormed out of the room, pulls his hand from his mouth. All he wants to do is brush his teeth. He looks at Puck from the corner of his eyes and says, "Can you just leave? Please?"

Puck turns a little, his eyes digging into Kurt with their intensity. "No way. Not until you tell me who messed with you."

A small noise of disbelief catches in Kurt's throat as a spike of bitter anger overcomes him. It's like bile; thin and sour. "Why do you care?"

Puck almost looks hurt, but the emotion is quickly overtaken by cocky self-confidence and earnest conviction. "Because you're my boy now, and I've never seen you like this. You're an Ice Queen, dude."

Feeling a little guilty as the anger retreats, Kurt nods. "Yeah, I know. It's just – hard to forget, is all." They both know what he's referring to, and no further elaboration is required.

Puck nods in understanding, but doesn't apologise. Kurt figures they still have a ways to go before that will happen, if ever.

Silence stretches between them for some time, the sound of Kurt occasionally sniffling the only thing to break it, and Puck never moves. Their shoulders are pressed together tight enough that Puck's body heat radiates into Kurt, warming him in more than a physical sense.

"He kissed me. It – it was my first kiss from a boy."

Puck jerks, eyebrows falling into a glare of concentration, but he doesn't start throwing angry words. Instead, he calmly asks, "Will you tell me who?"

Kurt shakes his head and whispers, "No."

Another period of silence ensconces them, the air in the locker room filled with their thoughts. It's Puck who breaks the silence this time.

"When I need to get over something bad I replace it with something good." Puck is facing him, a smirk on his lips that says 'who wouldn't want this' that almost makes Kurt scoff.

The answer is so dysfunctional, so against every bit of logic that Kurt holds, that he thinks it just might work. "And who do you suggest I kiss, Puckerman?"

Puck looks offended, but then he sits up straighter and puffs out his chest. "Who else, princess? You couldn't do better than the Puckasaurus."

Kurt finds himself nodding, even as his thoughts protest wildly; this is Puck, the boy who used to torment him and who he only has a tentative friendship with because of their mutual love for glee. He doesn't get a chance to talk himself out of it.

Puck is already leaning in, his eyes focused on Kurt's lips, which Kurt knows are swollen from the unexpected kiss and from his subsequent grip upon them. He finds himself moving in as well, and they almost seem to be going in slow motion, creeping toward each other slowly and carefully.

It's Puck who takes the initiative to close the gap, brushing his slightly chapped lips over Kurt's in a light kiss. After a moment of barely touching together, Puck deepens the kiss enough that he is caressing Kurt's lips with his own.

Kurt pulls away before it can go any further, red staining his cheeks, and says, "Thank you."

The soft look on Puck face melts into something like a leer as he says, "No problem."

Puck smirks at Kurt and stands, walking away and leave Kurt to watch his retreating back.

Kurt knows this won't make everything okay, that it won't erase the memory of Karofsky, but it did make his day just a little bit better. And he's discovered that maybe Noah Puckerman will be a better friend than he thought he could ever be.


	6. Sleep

Sleep

Puck bunches his fingers into a fist and drives it into the mattress, frustration and annoyance flitting over him like a thousand crawling ants. He can't sleep. He's tired, has had a bad day, and he can't sleep. All because his bed-partner is attempting to train for gold in the fidgeting Olympics.

Just as the thought passes through his mind Kurt makes a sudden turn and flops a hand down on Puck's chest, the smack of his palm connecting with Puck's skin echoing around the room. The spot stings, and Puck resists the urge to push Kurt's hand off of him, instead closing his eyes and counting to twenty. Ten's never enough.

He's been together with Kurt, meaning dating because Kurt doesn't count sex, for a month and this is only the first time they've managed to spend the night together. Puck's used to sleeping alone; despite having had many sexual affairs in his young life, he usually either left after, or was left. He doesn't quite know what to do in this situation.

Kurt makes a little whining moan and whips his head toward Puck, his hair, free of product, splays out across the side of his face. The thin boy is ethereally pale by the weak light of the moon, his long curling lashes shadowing the underneath of his eyes.

Puck takes the momentary stillness of his boyfriend to study his features; the strong jaw and well-defined cheekbones, the flawless skin and pink lips. He never thought he would find so much beauty in the features of another man, especially not someone like Kurt Hummel.

But he has. And as his eyes travel from perfectly-shaped eyebrows to the strong cut of a collarbone bared by the drooping of an overly-large shirt – his shirt – something warm lights in his chest. He's been feeling this, this odd sensation of being content, for a while now, but it is building to be something he can't ignore.

The peace is once again broken as Kurt rips away from Puck, body twisting the other way even as one of his legs kicks out, peeling the blanket off of both of them. The cool air raises a swath of goosebumps on Puck's arms and chest, peaking his nipples and running down his spine.

Kurt's back, now facing him, is bare where his shirt has ridden up, showing the slight curve of his waist and the dimple to the right of his spine low on his back. Puck loves running his fingers over that feature and its twin, delights in the moans Kurt lets out as he arches into the touch. It's one of the most sensuous things that Puck has ever experienced, and it's only a dimple.

Knowing that if this continues he won't get any sleep, but not wanting to risk leaving Kurt alone, Puck looks over at Kurt appraisingly. And hopes his plan works.

Rolling so that he is close behind Kurt, Puck reaches his arms around Kurt, holding him across the chest and across the waist, and pulls him in tight against his chest. The other boy doesn't react, continuing to be limp and malleable as he is manoeuvred to be plastered to Puck's front.

For a moment, one where Puck stills and keeps tense, ready to move, Kurt shifts. Puck smirks and relaxes, resting his head on the pillow, when all Kurt does is curl his legs back to twine with Puck's and snuggle deeper into the embrace.

Puck always thought he'd fall in love during the day. Instead he has fallen in love during the night, wrapped around a twitchy man who has the ability to annoy him and bring him happiness. Who he can't imagine leaving, horrible sleep-habits and all.


	7. Pumpkin Pie

Pumpkin Pie

"No way. Get that out of my face; it looks like dog shit."

Kurt holds the piece of pumpkin pie even closer to Puck in response, waving the paper plate invitingly. "Oh come on, Noah, it's delicious! Just try it."

"No," says Puck, crossing his arms resolutely. "I am not putting that anywhere near my mouth."

"But I made it from scratch," Kurt protests, letting his bottom lip protrude just a little. "I can assure you that this is the most amazing pumpkin pie that you will ever encounter."

Puck sighs and shakes his head. "Look princess, I have never tried pumpkin pie, and I never will. Drop it."

Kurt lifts the fork in his hand and scoops the very tip of the pie slice on to it, lifting it until it is level with his mouth. "Are you sure? Not even just a little?"

"No."

Kurt reaches his tongue out slowly, pulling the piece of food into his mouth even as he looks up at Puck from under his eyelashes. As his lips close around the fork he rolls his eyes upward and shuts his lids, moaning appreciatively. "Oh my God – mmm – you have to try this, Noah. Please." His words are velvety-smooth as they pour from his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick any crumbs from the corners of his lips.

When Kurt opens his eyes again, Puck is starting at him with rapt attention, a flush of red spreading over his face. His breathing is shallow and fast, and Kurt does all he can not to smirk.

Taking another small bite, Kurt moans low and deep around the fork, even going as far as to roll his hips a little. "It's orgasmic," he groans out, looking up to meet Puck's eyes.

Puck's mouth hangs open a tiny bit, and Kurt bites his lower lip as he asks, "Just a little?"

Puck doesn't say anything, just nods, and Kurt steps in close, using the fork to scoop another chunk of pie from the piece.

Puck's face scrunches up, his nose and the space between his eyebrows puckering, as Kurt brings the fork to his lips and gently prods them open. The small piece of pie disappears into Puck's mouth and Kurt pulls the fork away, every morsel cleaned away from the action of Puck's tongue and lips.

Kurt watches closely, a bit of anxiety in his chest, as Puck reluctantly starts chewing. Within seconds the anxiety drains from him and is replaced with smug righteousness as Puck's eyebrows go up in surprise and he starts chewing more rapidly.

"This is – this is –"

Kurt nods, a smile on his face. "It's amazing. I told you it would be."

Puck merely stares at him, unimpressed, and says, "Shut up and give me the rest of that pie."


	8. Starry Night

A/N: (un)fortunately the prompt for today ('starry night') actually lead to a scene in a pre-established fic of mine. I have included an excerpt of the as of yet unpublished chapter for today's drabble. I really did not have time to write another one. The fic, already ~16,000 words long, was written aprompt on the angst meme. This story is under this account as 'Drowning in Sunny Skies'.

All you really need to know is that Kurt's boyfriend (not a canon character) taped Kurt being date raped, and sent out the video.

**Warning: allusions to noncon/date rape, underage drinking.**

Starry Night

Kurt walks down the stairs woodenly, eyes wide and unblinking. The image, grainy and stark, is frozen in his mind, a sickening glance at something so horrible that he can barely comprehend the reality of it.

He feels relief and shame warring within him; he couldn't do it. Couldn't go through with watching the video. He wonders if his inability to do it makes him weak.

At the bottom of the stairs a single streak of light cuts across the floor, bisecting the hallway between the entry hall and the kitchen. His feet hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and his bare toes are chilled by the change from carpet to hardwood.

The faint sound of the TV is overlapped by two voices talking, his dad and Carole, and Kurt looks in the direction of the kitchen, through which is the living room, and hesitates. He then pivots in the other direction, shoves his bare feet into a pair of shoes, and quietly opens the front door.

The last time he had done this, just earlier in the afternoon, it had been light and spotted with people on the street. This time, as he gently shuts the door behind him, there is no one in sight and the world is cloaked in darkness.

Kurt doesn't know where he's going; he doesn't know when or where his is going to stop; only that he has to keep moving. He feels like he's running from something, and maybe he is.

He walks for blocks and blocks, the dark houses of Lima's inhabitants passing by in a blur of siding and stucco. He sees a park ahead, one that he's only ever visited by the light of day, and turns that way, eyes locking on a bench.

Kurt sits on the bench and leans back, slouching so that his neck rests on the top slat of wood, and stares into the night sky. The stars above shine and wink at him, wavering in what he can only describe as a 'twinkling' pattern.

He wishes that he didn't know that stars don't actually twinkle; wishes that he'd never read about atmospheric disturbance and its effect on visibility in the night sky. Maybe if he didn't know, didn't understand, he could believe in the presence of magic or miracles.

As his eyes trace along Orion's Belt, Kurt hears footsteps approaching along with the sound of bottles clinking together. He rolls his head to the side and sees a familiar figure lit by a streetlight in the distance. He turns back to the stars.

A single shooting star streaks overhead, its bright path quickly extinguished, fading into nothing. It reminds Kurt that he should Google the next meteor shower; they really are a beautiful spectacle to witness. He watched one with his mother once.

There is a heavy 'whump' as Puck sprawls on the bench beside him, setting his six-pack of beer down between them.

"Hummel," acknowledges Puck as he reaches for a bottle and pops the cap off with his belt buckle.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt replies, "Puckerman."

Taking a long pull from the bottle, Puck swallows and asks, "What're you doing out here?"

Kurt shrugs, continuing to look up. "Needed to get away."

Puck merely nods in response, in understanding, and takes another drink of beer.

There is only an occasional wisp of cloud to obscure the night sky, floating a slow path across the heavens, and Kurt lets his eyes drift lazily with one.

They sit in silence for close to half an hour, Puck draining his first beer and quickly working his way through a second and then sipping on a third. Kurt, neck stiff from the awkward position, sits up, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

"Did you watch it?" Kurt's question hangs between them, quiet and calm.

Puck takes a sip of beer. "Yeah."

"The whole thing?" This time his voice is coloured by a hint of anxiety. And curiosity.

Puck shrugs, eyes facing forward and beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "Most of it."

"Why?"

Puck turns and looks at Kurt for the first time in their conversation, eyes hazed with alcohol, but still intense. "I had to know." The answer is simple, to the point.

Kurt nods and licks his lips, looking upward to try and stem any tears from falling from his eyes.

Puck watches him for a minute, eyes trailing over what Kurt knows to be a sloppily picked outfit and dark rings around his eyes, and then turns away. "Anyone who watches it the whole way through knows it wasn't –" He cuts off, like he can't think of the right word to use.

"Consensual," Kurt offers.

"Yeah."

Kurt uses the tips of his fingers to sooth the lines of his eyebrows, massaging his temples when he finishes. "I couldn't do it."

"What?" Puck asks, looking over. Kurt meets his eyes briefly, then tears away to focus on the ground. "Don't be stupid, princess. You don't need to."

Kurt huffs out a little laugh and nods even as a tear slips from his left eye. "Thanks, Noah."

Kurt notices, as Puck brings his third beer to his lips once again, that this is the first time since they joined Glee that Puck hasn't offered him some type of drink. Puck's always been the kind to share at least some of his illegally-procured wares, and Kurt has always said 'no'. This time he never even had to.

Watching the other boy lean back against the bench and look upward, Kurt is grateful. In his own way, Puck can be very caring and thoughtful – it just takes some time to see it.

"You gonna be okay Hummel?"

Kurt leans back and looks into the sky again, the single wet tear track drying on his cheek. "I don't know."


	9. Hidden Smiles

Hidden Smiles

Kurt sits in the back of the choir room, legs crossed and hands primly clasped over his knee. His boots, black and reaching high on his calf, cover the bottoms of his grey skinny jeans, leaving his long and shapely legs on display.

Mercedes sits close to him on his right, occasionally looking over to share a smile with him as she talks with Tina, and Kurt absently listens to the various conversations occurring around the room. He is amused by Mercedes, Tina and Rachel, disturbed by Finn, Puck and Artie, and scarred for life by what Santana and Brittany are saying.

He really ought to know better than to eavesdrop, especially considering the rather interesting things that some of the glee members have to say, but it really can come in handy.

The conversation around him tapers to a stop as Mr. Shuester walks through the door, arms full of sheet music, and takes front and centre to introduce their weekly assignments.

As the teacher moves to the white board, a bounce of excitement in his step, Kurt reaches up and adjusts his scarf. He can't help but take the opportunity to slide his fingers under the soft material and over the smooth skin of his neck. The contours where his tendons and muscles define the long, pale column are pocked by darkened marks.

Kurt was always careful before and didn't let Noah bite and suck on his skin, skin which bruised beautifully, anywhere it couldn't be easily covered. But last night, as they lay intertwined on Kurt's bed, pillows flung around them and covers crumpled at their feet, Kurt hadn't the mind to protest.

Pressing his pointer finger into one of the marks, feeling the heat of it, Kurt has never been happier to have let Noah have his way. This is the first time he's dropped his compunctions and given in, and with how much he wishes he could signal Noah to follow him into the janitor's closet at the moment, it won't be the last.

Looking across the choir room to where Puck is sitting two rows down, Kurt finds the other boy staring at him. Staring at his neck, where Kurt's fingers are caressing over hidden bruises. Kurt feels a light flush of colour permeate his skin.

Puck notices his attention and winks, smirking at him in a self-satisfied way. Kurt wants to kiss the expression from his face.

As Mr. Shuester extols something about an age-old classic that he'd taken Regionals with during his time in glee, Kurt finds himself biting down just a little on his bottom lip and smiling back.

No one else in the room notices the moment, and before it can linger for very long, it is gone. Kurt turns his attention back to Mr. Shuester with a hint of a smile on his face and contentment in his chest.


	10. Visits

A/N: this is a continuation of 'Cold', the first of my (haha) drabbles. I'm so sorry it's so long – I couldn't stop myself.

Visits

Puck hadn't been lying when he said he was okay, that he had only hit his head. Kurt probably thought he was dying or something, when really he should have been worrying about himself.

The trip to the hospital is dizzying – the sirens of the ambulance, the frantic work of the paramedics; it's all overwhelming and making Puck's head spin.

They gave him a quick once-over, checked his pupils and wrapped him in a thermal blanket, but as soon as they deemed his injuries non-life threatening (and decided that he wasn't in shock), they focused all of their attention on Kurt. The other man, paler than Puck has ever seen him except for the large spreading bruise on his stomach, has been in and out of coherence since the ambulance arrived. Since he stopped shivering.

The paramedics have gained a kind of urgency that leaves a pit of dread forming in Puck's stomach. They are yelling something about severe hypothermia and shock and internal haemorrhage – Puck isn't stupid, and he's heard all of those terms before. And he knows that none of them are good separate; they must be even worse together.

One of the paramedics, a short woman with long blonde hair pulled back from her face, shakes her head and says, "We need to start raising his core temperature. They'll probably have to use an intravascular balloon catheter for re-warming in the OR and ICU."

Puck didn't know what the 'balloon catheter' would involved, but he certainly knows what 'OR' and 'ICU' mean. "What's going on?" he demands, and wishes his voice was stronger.

All but one of the paramedics ignore him; a man with short brown hair and a complexion just darker than Puck's glances over and then back to his task of attempting to start an IV. "Your friend is bleeding internally – he's probably going to need emergency surgery, but we need to get his temperature back up. It'll help his chances in the OR."

There is something terrifying and loud scrabbling in his chest as Puck hears himself say, "Won't the cold help stop the bleeding?"

The paramedic shakes his head, but doesn't look away from his task. "No – it's actually making it worse."

Puck finds himself in a place of anxious fear and numbness. He's never felt this afraid before, this useless, as he watches the barely-conscious face of his boyfriend disappear under a large type of oxygen mask attached to a small grey box.

They've been in the ambulance long enough that Puck's hands have stopped burning from the sudden introduction of heat, and he has dropped the grey blanket off of his shoulders. As he watches one of the paramedics gently feel along Kurt's stomach, right over the darkening bruise, Puck realizes something.

"He's not my friend," Puck says, watching as two of the paramedics briefly give him their attention. "He's my boyfriend." The man with the short hair nods and the lady with the long blonde hair gives him a little smile that Puck is sure is supposed to be encouraging.

They pull into the ambulance dock of the hospital within minutes and as the driver comes to a full stop and Puck is ushered out of the back doors so that they can take Kurt out on the stretcher, Puck finds himself whispering, "It's our first anniversary."

A group of people are waiting for Kurt, and Puck tries to keep pace as Kurt is wheeled away, but a hand on his arm stalls him. He tries to break free but another hand comes up to restrain him. "Let me go. I've gotta go with him."

The paramedic from the ambulance shakes his head and says, "No. Hey, listen to me – it's going to be better _for him_ if you don't."

The emphasis on 'for him' and the sincere way the other man is looking at him stops Puck in his tracks. "Where are they taking him?"

"Probably to the OR – you should go get checked out, too."

~?~

The small waiting room outside of the ICU is filled with various families all sitting in little pockets on the lush leather couches. As Puck leans back and sinks into his seat, he wonders if the hospital thought that a comfortable waiting room would actually make people feel better about severely sick or injured loved ones.

It's been two hours since he's seen Kurt and one and a half of those hours had been spent alternatively pacing the length of the ICU waiting room and jiggling his leg up and down when he does sit.

Puck jerks his head up as a short man with dark features and olive skin hovers in the doorway; he has a laminated hospital ID around his neck and dark circles under his eyes. He's here on behalf of one of the patients.

"Family of Kurt Hummel?"

Puck is on his feet and moving within a second, and he realizes from the little flinch of the man that maybe he's looming a little too strongly. But he needs to know – needs to know if Kurt is okay. "I am."

Brown eyes meet his from below and Puck feels irritation and agitation build from the assessing gaze he receives. "I'm his boyfriend," he says, a note of challenge in his voice.

The man takes in his statement with more aplomb than his mohawk. "He's out of surgery and on his way to the ICU now. I was one of the attending surgeons." The man, the doctor, then looks behind himself and down the hall, and turns back to Puck. "They're just wheeling him through right now if you want a glance before they get him situated."

Puck heart jumps in his chest and he feels his eyes widen. "Yeah," he breathes out and steps up beside the doctor in the doorway. From down the hall he can hear the sound of multiple footsteps and the rattle of wheels.

A large bed surrounded by several nurses and what Puck assumes is a doctor approaches, and Puck can see the dark chestnut hair and the fair skin that he is so familiar with peeking out of a blanket. He can see that Kurt's eyes are closed as they get closer, can see the way he has gained a little colour to his cheeks and lips, and that his breathing is only assisted by a nasal cannula.

Far too soon Kurt is wheeled right passed him without stopping and disappears behind the set of doors leading to the ICU. Puck's body reacts by stepping in his direction automatically, and he has to stop himself from running to catch up.

"Will I be able to see him soon?" It is the question that Puck has been dreading – he's heard of gay and lesbian couples being denied visitation before, and he won't let that be the case here, whether the hospital agrees or not.

"You're his partner, right?"

"Yeah." Puck instinctively crosses his arms and tenses his muscles.

The surgeon simply nods his head. "Then yes; when they get him situated and the nurse gives you the go-ahead you should be able to." At Puck's quickly-wiped away look of surprise and suspicion, and surgeon cocks his head a little to the right. "It's your legal right at this hospital."

Puck frowns a little even as the announcement releases a large amount of pent-up anxiety from within him. "I thought –"

The doctor shakes his head. "You can thank President Obama – he signed a memo about visitation rights that will allow you to see him. Regardless of familial tie or marriage status."

~?~

The ICU room is filled with the sound of soft voices and the beeps of heart monitors. Puck walks passed two curtained-off beds before he sees the familiar figure of his boyfriend laid out to his left. A nurse is standing by his head adjusting an IV line and checking a machine's output.

Puck walks slowly forward, eyes locked on the high cheekbones and the stark contrast between the dark circles around Kurt's eyes and the pallor of the rest of his skin. There is something about the white sheets and blue blanket that seem to sap the sass and strength that characterizes _Kurt_ from the other boy, leaving him small and fragile-looking on the bed. It hurts Puck more than he imagined to see all of the reasons he calls Kurt 'Princess' dimmed away.

"He was just awake," says the nurse as he turns to Puck and gestures toward a hard plastic chair. "He's been drifting in and out. But he shouldn't stay asleep too long."

Puck nods and approaches Kurt's side cautiously. Just hours ago he had held the shivering man in his arms and waited for an ambulance to arrive, waited long enough that Kurt lost the ability to think or talk coherently, and stopped shivering altogether.

Collapsing into the chair, Puck reaches forward and wraps his hand around Kurt's, feeling the flesh of the other man under his fingers to make sure he's really there. "He's so cold."

"We have to warm him up slowly. Going too fast does more harm than good, and we want to get him stabilized without any negative effects."

Puck nods and turns his attention back to Kurt, running his finger over the elegant fingers and thin wrist, careful to avoid the IV port taped to the pale skin. As he lets his thumb caress over Kurt's knuckles, feels the softness of the skin between them, he looks up and catches Kurt staring at him.

Kurt licks his lips and rasps, "Hey."

Puck stands and bends over Kurt's bed, bringing his face in close, and brushes an errant strand of hair off of the other man's forehead. "Hey," he says back. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt's eyes drift closed for a moment and then open again. "I'm not sure," he says.

Puck lets out a little huff of laughter. "That's probably the drugs speaking."

"Are you okay?" Kurt's eyes are hazy, but he is trying his hardest to focus.

"I'm fine, Princess. I told you so." Kurt smiles in response and nods a little, and even injured Puck can tell he wants to roll his eyes. "I love you."

Kurt blinks at him and smiles a little wider. "I love you, too."

Everything seems to crash down on Puck at once, like as the pressing threat of Kurt dying is diminished, all of the other emotions are unlocked. His hands are shaking and he feels like he just might need to sit down before he falls down, and there is a sudden tightening in his throat that tells him he is close to tears. He hates crying, but the thought of losing Kurt, the almost-reality of it, pushes all of his compunctions away.

He sits with Kurt's hand in his for a short time, watching as the blue-green-grey of the countertenor's eyes flutter closed a few times only to reopen minutes later. As Kurt focuses on him one of those times, Puck asks, "Did you know about the new visitation rights in hospitals?"

Kurt smiles a little, hand squeezing Puck's with cool fingers. "Yeah. I did."

~?~

A/N: I AM NOT a medical doctor – I'm a mere undergrad studying physical anthropology. I am likely to have made mistakes – any and all information in the previous writing was taken from personal experience, three years of sports medicine and an epic skim of various articles in medical journals. I apologise if I got something wrong; I tried pretty hard to keep everything real-ish, but I just don't have the experience to do so completely.


	11. Guitar

Guitar

"Babe? Why is there a guitar in your closet?"

Kurt lifts his head from his pillow and arches a brow delicately at his boyfriend who is standing in his closet. "What are you doing in my closet?"

Puck holds up a brand-new box of condoms with his right hand. "Was lookin' for these." He then holds up an old acoustic guitar with his left hand. "You never told me you could play." He almost sounds betrayed, but it is beat-out by the curiosity in his voice.

Kurt drops his head back onto his pillow and shoves his arms underneath of the down-filled material to prop his head up further. "I can't."

Dropping the box of condoms beside the bed, Puck sits down next to Kurt and brings the old guitar into his lap to get a better look at it. "Then why do you have this in your closet? You were just complaining about running out of room the other day – you'd probably get at least ten more scarves in there without this thing."

Kurt chuckles and shifts so that he is on his side, thighs and belly wrapped around Puck where he is sitting, and sets his head on his hand. "More like twenty." It's difficult to judge with things like scarves, though. "It was my mom's," he says after a minute.

Puck's eyes flick over to look at him, and then back to the guitar. Kurt smiles as he notices the gentling of Puck's hands on the wood; the way the other boy seems to instantly understand how important it is. "You've never really told me about your mom before."

Kurt's lips pull up in a little lop-sided smile. Beyond the occasional remark, Kurt really hasn't said anything about his mom since he and Puck got involved – he's never felt the need. Until now. "I guess it's just too painful sometimes. But there's a first time for everything."

Puck huffs out a breath of air and nods as he leans down toward Kurt and slides one hand over the pale column of his neck until his hand is clenched in Kurt's hair. He then moves in close and presses their lips together, opening his mouth almost instantly to lick inward, playing over Kurt's tongue.

They pull apart after a moment, and Puck smirks at the flush running across Kurt's face and the way his lips have turned a cherry-red that stands out wonderfully from his light skin. There is a little wet spot of saliva on Kurt's upper lip, and Puck brings up the hand he'd had clenched in Kurt's hair to wipe it away.

Taking the guitar into both hands again, Puck stands and moves back to the closet, replacing the instrument where he had found it. When he reaches the bed again, this time crawling in next to Kurt, who leans over the edge and grabs the box of condoms, Puck asks, "Do you want me to teach you?"

Kurt reaches one long leg over Puck's hips and straddles the muscular man, rolling their hips together. "Teach me what?"

Puck places his hands on Kurt's bare hips, tracing his thumbs over the jut of his hipbones, and says, "To play."

Kurt stalls his movements and stares at Puck before smiling and pressing down even harder than before, and then leaning forward to rest their chests together. They are eye to eye and their lips are mere centimetres apart, and as Kurt speaks Puck can feel the warm, moist breath on him. "I would love that."


	12. Periwinkle

Periwinkle

Puck backs Kurt up against the wall, hands shoving at the slighter boy's clothes, and presses deep kisses along his throat and jaw. Kurt is moaning, each rub of stubble or nip of teeth sending shocks of pleasure throughout his body.

"I love your neck," Puck groans harshly, sucking a little on the soft skin.

Kurt arches into Puck mouth, panting, then says, "You'll be able to love a whole lot more of me if you help get these clothes off." He gasps as Puck sucks harder, using his tongue to trace the flesh.

Puck pulls away with a 'pop', smirking at the dark bruise he's left behind, and takes in Kurt's face, head thrown back and eyes closed, teeth caught on his bottom lip. He can't wait to strip him down and fuck him.

"Up," Puck demands as he pushes his hands under the material of Kurt's shirt, taking the opportunity to run his hands over the slim torso there, and pulls the article of clothing over Kurt's head.

Kurt follows and tugs Puck's muscle-shirt over his head, admiring the definition of the strong man's chest and abdomen, before reaching down and unbuttoning the washed-out jeans. He slides the zipper down slowly, carefully, and then uses both hands to grab Puck's jeans and underwear, tugging them away in one movement.

Puck jerks a little as his erect cock bobs in the air, and then moans as Kurt moves in close, kissing him and pressing their bare chests together, grabbing him in one hand and stroking up and down his length.

Kurt moves back after a moment, hands settling on the button of his skinny jeans, but Puck intervenes. "I've got this."

Kurt leans his upper back against the wall, using his hands to hold himself steady, as Puck's fingers dance across his taut belly to the waist of his jeans. Kurt adores those fingers – blunt and calloused, but dexterous and precise. They can do wonderful, delicious, iloving/i things to his body.

Feeling his pants being peeled away from his body, down his thighs and calves, Kurt steps out of them and looks down. Only to see Puck staring at his crotch with one eyebrow raised as he crouches in front of Kurt.

"Dude, are you wearing purple underwear?"

Kurt scoffs indignantly and scowls down, and is instantly amused by the way Puck is leaning in close, face mere inches from Kurt's cock as it presses against the material of his boxer briefs. "They're periwinkle." Kurt tries his best not to giggle from the absurdity of this all. "And don't call me 'dude'."

Puck looks up and meets his eyes even as he uses his hands to run up Kurt's thighs, reaching around to cup his buttocks in his large hands. "Fine. Are you wearing periwinkle underwear, princess?"

"Mmmm," Kurt moans as Puck clenches his hands on his ass, fingers massaging through the material of his underwear. "Would you rather discuss the colour of my underwear than fuck?"

Puck's hands release from their hold and he pulls the material down quickly, exposing Kurt to the air of the room. Puck smiles in accomplishment and stands. "Bitch."

…

When Puck is finished they stay pressed together, panting from the exertion and just letting the remnants of pleasure wash over them. It's comfortable, and as the sweat starts to cool on their bodies, content.

"I'd say that was the perfect way to christen our bed."

"No really?" Puck chuckles, the rumbles of his chest running through into Kurt.

Kurt slaps him lightly on his shoulder and says, "Don't get all sarcastic with me. That's my job. Besides, don't you want to christen the kitchen counter, too?"

Puck groans deep in his throat, the thought sending shots of arousal to him far too soon. Who knew getting their first place together would be so awesome?

~?~

There are over 1,000 more words to this section, but because of the rating restriction here on ffnet, I have had to cut that section. It's all smut.

If you would like to read the complete drabble (lol it's 1,707 words), you can follow the link in my profile to my fic masterpost – scroll down to "30 Days of Puckurt" just before the WiP section and click. It's number 13.


	13. No

**Warning****: violence, homophobic slurs**

No

Kurt's ears are ringing, a high-pitched and metallic buzz that drowns the rest of the world out. There is something wrong with his eyes; they won't focus and every time his lids slide shut it becomes harder to open them again.

His face is pressed into something hard and unrelenting, and he can see shadows moving above him, making the single point of light from above flicker in and out of sight. There is a desperation building in him, something strong and important that doubles with every passing second, and Kurt rakes his mind frantically to discover what it is.

Kurt suddenly jolts to the right, lungs tight, as something impacts with his upper chest, hard and swift. The jerking movement and the corresponding groan that chokes and dies in his throat tells him exactly what is wrong.

He can't breathe.

Multiple centres of pain radiate from all over his body, but he can feel many of them, too many, concentrated on his stomach and chest.

Seeing a blur of movement to his left, Kurt has just enough vision to recognize the shape of a booted foot as it connects with his side. The breath that tries to escape him at the contact is squandered as his empty lungs fail to work.

Kurt has felt this before, knows he's been winded, and he tries to take in a shallow inhale between blows. His chest protests, sending a sputtering cough flying from his lips, and something wet and metallic spatters at the back of his throat. Blood.

There is a sudden shift, like someone has lifted a fog from Kurt's senses, and everything starts to fade back in. He can hear yelling somewhere to his right and he can almost focus on the features of the three men standing above him.

He can also remember why he is lying on an expanse of cracked and dirty pavement ten feet into an alley.

Trying to move as slowly and carefully as possibly, Kurt rolls his head to the right. The sight that greets him freezes his heart in his chest.

Noah is sprawled out on the pavement just four feet away, body jerking as he tries to move, but restrained by a boot planted firmly on his back. His chest is pressed into the ground and a small pool of blood extends from under his right shoulder. His eyes meet Kurt's as he grits his blood-stained teeth together ferally.

Ever since he was old enough to understand just how heartless and cruel humanity can be, Kurt has known this might happen. He just never thought it would be like this.

Something heavy and crushing comes down on Kurt's right forearm where it is flung from his body, stomping into the exposed flesh without warning. Even as a horrifying 'crack' rents through the air, Kurt hears a deeper voice screaming in tandem with his own.

"Fuck! You bastard!" Noah is fighting with all of his strength, but he can't move far.

The pain that radiates from Kurt's arm scores through his nerves like a billion razors, harsh and sharp and cutting deep. He finds himself gagging breathlessly from the overwhelming power of it.

Wave after wave of agony rips through Kurt as the foot comes down again and again, grinding and mashing the tissues of the broken limb. Kurt can do nothing but wish for it to end, for unconsciousness to take him, as his sobs are alternately stolen by the pain and loosed into the night air.

"Goddamn fairy. This isn't half of what you deserve. Fag."

Kurt always thought it would be him, and only him, to face this. It was stupid, in hindsight, but there has always been something about Noah that made him think he was immune.

But here they were.

"Fuck," the man pressing down on Noah's back curses. "We gotta go."

Kurt cries out in relief and in pain as the man standing above him steps away. He can hear a group of people, a large group by the sound of it, approaching the opening to the alley.

"Come on," says the third man, stepping over Kurt's body as he moves. The man dishes out one last kick to Noah as he passes, muttering, "Catch you later, homo," before trailing his buddies as they disappear down the long, dark space between tall buildings.

Tears are dripping steadily from Kurt's eyes, catching and pooling in his hair and ears, mixing in with the streaks of blood painting him. He can't move his arm, not without excruciating pain taking him over and black dots encroaching on his vision.

"Noah?" Kurt whispers.

Noah grunts, and Kurt strains to see if he is okay, if he is too badly hurt. "Noah – please." He wants continue with 'are you okay?', but his voice dies away before he has the chance.

Kurt hears some shifting and movement, the sound of rough pants to stifle cries of pain, and then a rough, "Kurt."

Noah, who has pulled himself into a staggering hobble, drops down at Kurt's head, one arm wrapped tightly around his ribs. Kurt wants to sob from the relief of seeing him moving, of seeing his familiar face at all.

He instantly feels horrible for it, feels shames, but as Noah reaches out one shaking hand to gently brush by his bruised and bloody face, Kurt can't help but feel glad that he's not alone.

There is a sudden gasp from a short distance away and then the sound of fast-moving footfalls and Kurt knows they've been spotted.

Kurt knows they'll be okay, that they'll get through this, and as terrible as it sounds, he knows that he is grateful that Noah is here with him.


	14. Shifting Waters

A/N: I figured smut was the way to go after yesterday's angst-fest. Um... I've never written oral sex before, so woohoo it's my first, too! /o\ …I guess this means I'm upping the rating :P

Shifting Waters

Kurt's fingers scramble desperately across the slick shower tiles for purchase, little breathy moans flowing from between his lips constantly. Hot water is raining down on him, pelting his bare chest and stomach, sliding over his soft, smooth skin in winding rivulets.

As his fingers slip again, sending him tipping back to land against the shower wall with a 'thud', two large hands grip his hips firmly, holding him in place. Kneeling before him, naked and beneath the shower's torrent of water, Puck grins and licks his lips.

"Hold on tight, princess, 'cos you're in for the ride of your life."

Kurt only manages to roll his eyes skyward before any rejoinder he is thinking of is whipped from his mind without ever getting the chance to pass his lips.

Puck has leaned forward, fingers tightening on Kurt's hips, and engulfed half of his cock in one swift move. Kurt jerks against the hands holding him and moans, throwing his head back hard to hit against the tiles.

It's like nothing he's ever felt before; hot and moist and _moving_. Puck is using his tongue to massage the underside of Kurt's erection, tracing the more prominent veins, and Kurt can't even begin to describe how wonderful it feels.

Looking back down as he feels Puck pulling back, cheeks hollowed, Kurt groans at the sight. He had never considered seeing Puck kneeling before him, Kurt's throbbing and flush erection stretching him lips, would be so arousing. Kurt never wants this to end.

Puck uses the tip of his tongue to trace around the flared head of Kurt's erection, flicks over the slit where pre-come is beading, and then sinks back down. He does this several times, head bobbing and eyes closed as he works Kurt hard and fast.

The sensations are too much, and Kurt knows he won't last much longer. Puck's mouth feels amazing, more amazing then anything they've done before.

"I'm – I'm. Oh my," he gasps out, trying to warn Puck, but the other man rips his words away with a faster pace and a twirling tongue.

Everything is building, coiling in him; a giant ball of pleasure that roils madly, ready to explode outward. He wants desperately to just come, let himself go, and he's so _close._

One of Puck's hands disappears from his hips and a light touch brushes up Kurt's leg until it reaches the gentle crease between thigh and buttock.

Kurt can stop – he presses one hand to the back of Puck head, feels the soft stripe of hair under his finger tips, and watches as Puck takes him all the way in. At the same time, Puck's wandering fingers slip up between his legs and press just behind his balls, massaging a spot that sends sparks of pleasure throughout him.

It's too much, and Kurt lets out a loud whimper, the noise high and choked, and spasms, arching and trembling, as he comes.

He can feel Puck's throat working around him, those wonderful fingers keeping their pressure, and Kurt gasps as his orgasm is worked from his body continuously. Black dots dance in Kurt's vision and his hearing flickers in and out briefly as the last of his semen is swallowed by a talented mouth.

So lost in his pleasure, Kurt doesn't notice Puck pulling away and standing until there is a broad chest against his own and strong hands resting on his waist.

"Good?" Puck smirks cockily, licking a little spatter of come from his lower lip.

Not able to find words, Kurt nods and moves in quick, diving into Puck's mouth for a sloppy kiss. There is a taste there, him he realizes, that is foreign, but not bad, and Kurt follows it with his tongue, licking as much of it as he can from Puck's mouth.

They pull back, lips swollen and the taste of come on their tongues, just in time for the shower water to drop to an uncomfortably cold temperature.

"So," Puck says as he reaches over and turns the taps off, "have I convinced you?"

Kurt raises one delicate brow. "What? That showers are a worthwhile endeavour, or that blow jobs are most definitely worth the switch from bathing?"

Puck shrugs. "Both."

Looking Puck up and down, Kurt says, "I don't know. I think we may have to try again." Leaning forward and wrapping his hand around Puck's hard and leaking erection, Kurt continues, "But for now, I think we should take care of this."


	15. Scream

A/N: So. I wrote a special little drabble for the people over here on ffnet. Because the real version of his is… well – it's smut. Pure and simple. I hope you enjoy this offering instead :)

Scream 2.0

Finn frowns as he hears a knock on the front door and quickly shoves the carton of leftover Chinese food back into the fridge. He isn't supposed to be eating it anyway, but he got home an hour early from practice and his stomach is practically consuming itself.

Another knock sounds out, and Finn walks toward the door quickly, pausing at the bottom stairs for a second when he thinks he hears something from above, but then shakes his head and keeps moving. No body else should be home yet; it must have been his imagination.

Turning the deadbolt and pulling the door open, Finn looks down, way down, until he sees a head of black curly hair. "Oh," he says as he opens the screen, "hey Blaine."

"Hi Finn," Blaine says, rocking on his toes and shoving his hands into the pockets of his grey dress pants. "Is Kurt here?"

Finn's eyebrows pull together and he frowns in thought. "Did you guys make plans or something? Because I'm pretty sure he said he would be at the mall this afternoon."

Blaine's shoulders droop a little, but he smiles at Finn anyway and says, "Okay – thanks anyway." He starts to move away from the door when a loud noise of some sort echoes throughout the house.

Finn jumps and looks behind him, eyes catching on the stairs; the noise seemed to come from the upper level of the house.

"What was that?" Blaine asks, thick eyebrows raised high.

Finn shakes his head and says, "I have no idea. I didn't think anyone was home, dude." His eyes are wide when he turns back to Blaine.

They hear a loud 'thump' that rattles through the walls, and then a load groan.

"Is that – is that _Kurt_?" Blaine is moving forward, stepping a little into the house so he is beside Finn.

"Yeah," Finn breathes, "I think so. Do you – do you think he's hurt?"

Both of them start moving toward the stairs, not even bothering to close the front door. When they reach the bottom landing, Finn looks behind him as though checking to see that Blaine is still there.

Just then there is a series of thuds against one of the walls, loud and thrumming, and a high voice yells out loudly; this time it is most definitely Kurt.

Blaine and Finn's eyes meet, wide and worried, and then they start to rush up the stairs, bursting into the hallway above wildly. They move as one toward Kurt's door, but Finn trips over something, stumbling against the wall to catch himself. When he looks down he sees a red and white McKinley football jacket with the number '20' emblazoned on it.

Before either of them can reach the door to Kurt's room, Blaine having been blocked by Finn's stumbling gait from running ahead, all goes silent. Finn motions for Blaine to be quiet, and starts tiptoeing the rest of the way down the hall.

Blaine has his cell phone in his hand, fingers ready to dial, and his heart beats fast in his chest.

Finn, pressed against the wall just outside of Kurt's door, which is cracked open about four inches, slowly cranes his neck to look inside. The second he does so, however, he jerks back, one hand coming up to cover his mouth in horror.

Blaine, panic growing, tries to move past Finn and into the room, but is stopped by Finn reaching out an arm and holding him back. The tall boy stares down at him, eyes wide and shocked, and shakes his head back and forth urgently.

Before Blaine can ask what the hell he saw, someone speaks from within Kurt's room.

"I told you I could make you scream."

A sound, like that of flesh slapping against flesh, cracks through the air. "Shut up, Puckerman." It's Kurt, breathless and silky, but with no animosity in his tone.

The pieces all fit themselves together in Blaine's mind; the thudding, the moans and the scream, the McKinley football jacket. His mouth slowly falls open, shock filling him, and then embarrassment.

As he and Finn trade another look and start to slowly back away, toward the staircase, Blaine thinks that that could have been disastrous. Although, he muses as he watches Finn's face go from grey to an almost-green shade, he supposes that Finn might never recover.

* * *

><p>…you can totally read the other version over here: hxxp: /puckurt .livejournal . com/1333294. html?thread=24996910#t24996910 (remove the spaces and change the 'x's to 't's).


	16. Love Letters

Love Letters

Kurt grins as he opens his locker, the metal door swinging outward to reveal the organized and, he really must admit, coordinated décor of the small unit. But that isn't what he is smiling about.

Halfway up the metal door, just below where his 'courage' collage still sticks, is a pink post-it note, the bright colour of it nearly glowing in the fluorescent lights of McKinley High's hallways. On the top left corner it is labelled as '#17' and in the middle, in black ink, is a sloppily written message. All it says is 'the tilt of your nose'.

Blushing a little, Kurt lets a finger trace the words carefully. It is amazing how such a little thing can make him feel so good.

It all started almost two and a half weeks ago when he had been over at Puck's house. They had been doing nothing more than talking and watching some TV, mundane things that wouldn't garner a second look, when Kurt had let his secret slip.

Kurt has several secrets, but this one is different; it's not held for anyone but himself, and it is at the root of many of his thoughts. It affects his everyday life, is something that he is ashamed of and tries to cover with clothes and concealer, a proud stance and sharp words.

The real truth about Kurt Hummel is that he really isn't all that confident. Not about the things that he can't help, not about his physical features or his less-preferable personality traits. The things that make him unique are also the things that he is the most self-conscious about.

The day after that conversation – short and one sided as it was – these notes started appearing in his locker. Each one is labelled with a number, one for each day (it amuses Kurt to no end that there are always three lined up on Mondays), and contains a short message informing him of something likable about himself.

Kurt has no doubts about who it is, knows it's Puck not only because the teen is the only person who knows, but also because Kurt doesn't know many other people who could easily go through the effort of breaking into his locker every school day without getting caught.

Giving the note one last look, Kurt grabs his books and closes his locker, walking to class with a smile on his face.

~?~

The day Kurt opens his locker and looks at the post-it note, #42, and reads 'your ass', he almost squeaks in shock. He then tries to calm down and let the blush that settles on his cheeks fade away, all the while wishing he had chosen to wear pants that were just a little looser that day.

By the time glee practice comes along, however, Kurt's mind has switched from embarrassment to another perspective.

If he bends over just a little too far to pick up his dropped sheet music while standing right in front of Puck, the other boy doesn't call him out on it.

~?~

By the time the numbers are reaching the seventies and eighties, Kurt is sure Puck will start running out of things to say. Write. Whatever.

But then they just keep coming, all the way through the nineties and into the hundreds, until the day that Kurt opens his locker and a post-it, the label '#108' printed on the top, is waiting for him. People are milling around in the halls, the early morning rush of students who are anxious to meet up with friends before class swerving around those who are too tired to function.

As Kurt reads what is printing on the tiny pink piece of paper, the world falls away and he sinks into the warmth and contentedness that fills his chest. He never thought that he would find himself falling slowly and surely into love with a boy who used to bully him and who he barely knew before this year. But as he thinks of all of the little moments they have shared, the intimacies, he also thinks about the scrapbook he has at home filled with one hundred and seven post-it notes.

#108 will make a perfect addition.

* * *

><p>This drabble actually comes with a picture. 3am and me being awake usually leads to interesting happenings - in any case, this picture was taken before the drabble was written. hxxp: /puckurt .livejournal. com/ 1335435. html?thread=25031307#t25031307 (replace 'x's with 't's and remove spaces).


	17. Dumped

Dumped

The morning is beautiful; the warm late-spring air whisks by in a light breeze that rustles leaves and catches on the wings of butterflies as they flutter about. It is only typical that on this morning half of McKinley's hockey team is waiting by the dumpsters. For him.

Kurt straightens his back and grips the strap of his messenger bag and keeps his stride at a perfect glide as he makes to walk by. He is stopped by three of the jocks breaking formation to block his path.

Tilting his head up and keeping his face as stoic as possible, Kurt raises his eyebrows and asks, "Must we do this, gentlemen?"

A murmur of chuckles sounds out around him and suddenly there are three sets of hands on him, gripping his arms and fumbling to grasp his legs. Kurt struggles a little, but he knows better than to put up a real fight – that's the point when the jock population deems it necessary to start throwing sucker punches.

The edge of the dumpster comes fast, and before he knows it he's dropping down to land on a metal bottom, back connecting with a dull crack. His breath leaves his lungs momentarily, but a quick catalogue of his body tells him he isn't hurt bad.

Kurt has just started to mentally coordinate a new outfit based on the limited options stored in his locker (because these pants were never meant to be creased, not like this. Ever.) when a scuffle sounds from the other side of the metal wall of the dumpster.

"What the hell was that, you douchbags! I thought we had an agreement: you leave my boy alone."

Kurt cringes with hope or with dread, he's not quite sure, and starts to lift his torso off of the dumpster bottom. He moves just in time for a large body to come tumbling over the edge and land right on top of him, pressing him further into the metal floor below.

Groaning as the air is once again knocked out of him, Kurt tries not to wince too outwardly at the knee that is pressing hard into his inner thigh, leaving the muscles protesting. He allows himself to feel momentarily relieved that the knee didn't land three inches higher.

"I'm going to kill those bastards," hisses Puck from his position above Kurt.

Kurt closes his eyes as his thigh cramps under Puck's continued pressure, and says, "Can you maybe think about getting off of me, and work on revenge later?" His voice comes out strong and steady, something for which he is proud. Opening his eyes and raising one eyebrow he continues, "You're crushing me – not to mention my pants – now, would you be so kind as to iget off/i?"

Rolling his eyes at Puck's predictable smirk at Kurt's use of the phrase 'get off', Kurt almost sighs with relief as the pressure on his leg lets up. He quickly goes back to glaring at the bigger boy when that is all Puck does; instead of getting up, Puck balances his bulk above Kurt and brings his face in close.

"Hey there."

"I am not going to make out with you in a dumpster."

Puck's eyes are focused on Kurt's lips, his breath brushing against Kurt's skin from their closeness. "Aw come on princess; we've never done it here before. We can add it to our list."

Kurt huffs and puts his hands on Puck's shoulders, pushing him a little bit away. "And we never will," he states firmly. "But if you get up so we can get out of here," he says softly, bringing his lips up to brush over Puck's, "maybe I'll think about skipping English. You did want to check out the dimensions of the janitor's closet in the science wing, didn't you?"

Kurt has never seen his boyfriend move so fast before.

* * *

><p>AN: I am so sorry I'm late with so many drabbles - let's just say that RL has been... interesting. But there will be two more up later today in any case :) (I just have to go and see if I have a perforated eardrum first.)


	18. Cemetery

Cemetery

Kurt kneels down, his legs cushioned by a thick carpet of grass, and smiles sadly. It is late spring and the sun beats down on his back, illuminating the world with a golden glow. The rays cast forward to highlight the words carved in front of him.

_Kerry Ellie Hummel_

The words are etched in stone and softly curved; beautiful in a way that makes Kurt's heart ache.

Leaning forward and brushing his fingertips over the smooth stone, tracing the lines of the 'K', Kurt places a single stem of lily of the valley at the base of the headstone. The tiny white flowers nearly shine in the brightness of the day.

Pulling his eyes from the headstone, Kurt reaches a hand up, lacing his fingers with a larger set. Using their joined hands to tug his companion down until he is sitting next to him, Kurt leans over until his shoulder presses against the solid one at his side.

"Hey mom," Kurt says after some time, "I'd like you to meet someone very important to me."

Kurt looks over, smiles into soft brown eyes, and squeezes the hand holding his. His heart seems to swell in his chest as Noah smiles back at him, face all soft lines and tenderness.

* * *

><p>AN: for the rest of June I will be travelling (by RV) to Salt Lake City for a wedding and then back (I'm in Canada), so my internet connection is likely to be extremely spotty. If I cannot manage to post on one day for this reason I will post two drabbles the next day :) I hope that's okay.

I also was slapped (by a very drunk friend at a kegger), and have done some severe damage to my eardrum. Since I will be travelling through mountain ranges (with air pressure changes) I will probably be in some pain - so watch out for angst over the next week ;P

Oh! And if anyone's interested, I still need seven prompts (although I'm sure I can think of them, too ;P).

Thanks to everyone who is leaving me the lovely words - you guys make me so freaking happy :)


	19. Thunderstorm

There is a soundtrack for this – you can find it here: http :/ /emoryems .livejournal. com/11747 . html (delete the spaces).

Rated 'M' for a reason :P

* * *

><p><span>Thunderstorm<span>

Kurt falls asleep to the sound of rain pattering against the glass of his window and the feel of arms holding him tight. The pillow beneath his head is soft and cool but could never compare to the sensation of Noah's bare skin pressed against his own; the other man is hard muscle and warmth on his back, a familiar embrace that eases Kurt into unconsciousness.

There is a momentary sense of peace, of floating and complete relaxation, before Kurt is abruptly ripped from sleep by a loud _crack_ that rents through the air. The arms holding him clench in response to the noise; Noah's hands grip hard on Kurt's arm and side as he jolts awake.

Hearing a quickly drawn breath, feeling the corresponding movement against his back, Kurt brings a hand up and clasps one of Noah's arms where it crosses over his chest. He uses his thumb to rub over the thick lines of muscles and tendons on Noah's forearm and presses back against naked flesh, practically moulding himself to Noah's front.

"Hey," he whispers into the dark, voice light and airy, barely audible over the sound of the storm outside, "are you okay?"

Kurt leans his head back so that he is resting against Noah's shoulder, the rumbling of the man's voice permeating into him through their tightly-pressed skin. "Yeah. Just wasn't expecting that."

Huffing out a little breath, Kurt licks his lips and shifts his hips. "Neither of us was."

A deep groan ghosts across Kurt's ear and he stills his movement as he realizes the reason why Noah is suddenly tensing again; Noah's erection, half-hard and warm, is resting against his ass, rubbing over his skin with every move. The corners of Kurt's lips pull up and he rolls his hips with purpose this time, pressing back into the body curled behind him, and lets out his own little moan of appreciation at the feeling.

"We have to be up in two hours," Noah breathes, his own hips starting to move against Kurt, cock filling and trailing over and between Kurt's cheeks.

Kurt doesn't answer in words, instead letting a hum escape his lips as he turns his upper body, twisting until he can feel Noah's stubble against his cheek, and places a kiss on the corner of familiar lips.

A bright flash of light illuminates the room, white and shuddering across the sheets and their skin, and Kurt gasps as Noah slips one hand from around him, trailing down his spine, to the top of his crack. Fingers play there for a moment and then dip lower, slipping between his cheeks to rub over his hole.

"Fuck, Kurt," Noah murmurs. One of his exploring fingers slips into Kurt easily, sinking down to the second knuckle. "You're still all stretched out and wet."

Kurt gasps as the finger presses into him and pulls back out again, sliding tantalizingly over the tender skin around his entrance. He then reaches forward and grabs the tube of lube from on top of the bedside table and pops the lid open. He drizzles a pool of it into his right hand, lets it warm, and then reaches back and grasps Noah's erection in hand. The man groans and thrusts into the circle of Kurt's fingers, spreading the slick lubricant over his hard and aching erection.

When he is sure that Noah is coated thoroughly, Kurt pulls his hand away with one last parting stroke, and takes hold of his own erection. His cock slips easily in his hand, hard and standing out from his body; the dual sensations of being breached from behind and thrusting forward into his hand has Kurt moaning every few breaths.

"Noah," he says. "Please – in me. Now." A crack of lightening from outside sets the bed ablaze with white light, and Kurt closes his eyes tight and pumps his hand a little harder.

The two fingers that are in him pull away, scissoring and circling as they go, and Noah moves in close and licks a stripe up the side of Kurt's neck until he reaches his ear. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah – I want to feel you spreading me open."

"Okay." Noah nibbles on Kurt's ear lobe and sucks on the skin of his neck. "You're so fucking hot, babe."

"You're going to be cold if you don't get in me. Now."

Noah laughs breathily, bites at Kurt's neck, and runs his hands over Kurt's chest to tweak his nipples playfully. "Impatient. I like it."

Kurt gasps as the tip of Noah's cock brushes over his entrance and lifts his top leg, propping his foot on his other knee, leaving himself exposed. Noah takes advantage of the new position and guides his erection into place, slowly pressing in.

The stretch burns, already sore and worked muscles protesting in the most delicious way, and Noah sinks all of the way inside without pause.

There is a little break between Noah bottoming out inside of Kurt, abdomen pressing into the small of Kurt's back, and his pulling back out. Kurt's internal muscles clench down as all but the head of Noah's cock slides out of his body, and he groans and gives a full-bodied shudder as Noah takes hold of his hip and strokes back in.

Noah sets an easy pace of deep thrusts, his movements fluid and only punctuated by flashes of light and deep growls of thunder in the distance; the steady patter of rain on the window provides an ambient soundscape.

Kurt twists a little so that he isn't resting completely on his one shoulder, the hand that has been curled under him clenching hard in the sheets, and bucks back into each of Noah's thrusts. The air is thick, heavy with moisture from the warm summer weather, and droplets of sweat bead and drip down Kurt's forehead and chest as he works.

Noah's hand drags from its position on his hip, catching over the taut planes of his side and stomach, and slides through the small rivulets of moisture on Kurt's chest. The hand comes to a rest at the base of Kurt's neck, fingers holding to the hard contour of Kurt's collarbone and dipping into the sensitive hollow in the centre.

Wind bursts against the window as the storm outside picks up, the intense drumbeat of rain coming harder and faster in return. The sound overtakes all else in the room, drowning out Kurt's moans and gasps, and Noah's deeper grunts.

Flashes of lightening sparks over the couple, highlighting the hard lines of their muscles and slick bodies as their pace increases until it reaches a peak, Noah grasping Kurt to his chest and pumping hard into him. Kurt's hand is a blur of motion as he strokes himself to completion, the power of his orgasm ripping any coherent thought from his mind as he clenches hard around Noah's cock.

With one more powerful thrust Noah stills behind Kurt, arms wrapped around the other man tightly and hips spasming as he comes, thick stripes of semen shooting from him to coat Kurt's insides.

They stay like that for a moment, the sounds and lights of the storm outside immersing them, before Noah pulls back and out of Kurt, a small offering of his own come dribbling out with him.

"My first day of work is going to suck," Noah pants out as he comes down from his orgasm high.

Kurt chuckles and turns to face Noah, cuddling in as close as he can, their sweat-slicked skin sliding together as he moves. "But you always have this to look forward to when you get home."

"Mmm," Noah agrees, running a hand through Kurt's wet locks.

* * *

><p>AN: this came from the lovely prompt suggestions that came from heidilynn :D


	20. Needle

Needle

"Dude. Dude, wake up."

Kurt lets out a breathy moan and opens his eyes, squinting in the bright light that surrounds him. "What?" he says, words muffled by the horridly uncomfortable pillow beneath his head.

Puck's face suddenly comes into focus; he is bent at the waist and staring at Kurt in amusement. "I can't believe you fell asleep."

"Huh?" Kurt's mind is blurry and he has no idea where he is for a moment, and then the wall across from him comes into focus. There are hundreds of pictures, black and white and colour, plastered neatly in rows, each and every one hand-drawn and unique.

Kurt cranes his neck around, careful to keep his torso still, and tries to get a look at his back and side. "Is it done?" he asks.

"Yeah, man, and it looks fuckin' sweet," Puck says with a smirk. "I can't believe you actually did this."

"Better believe it my friend, because it's not going anywhere anytime soon."

Kurt looks up into the eyes of a tall wry man who is in the process of peeling a pair of gloves off, and smiles. "Can I look?"

"Yup," the man says. "There's a mirror right over there – take this with you." He hands Kurt a hand-held mirror and points at a tall mirror that nearly covers one of the walls. "I'll get this all sorted for the next one while you do that."

Moving as gingerly as possible, Kurt rolls from the table he has been laid on, face peeling from a disposable paper pillowcase – he just knows it has left lines – as he does so. His back and side feel odd – tender and aching, but not actually painful.

Rolling his shoulders gently as he walks, Kurt comes to stand before the mirror and turns, bringing the other mirror up so that he can see his back.

"Oh my God," he says softly, a small expression of wonder coming over his face. His eyes trace the lines of art over his skin; some are thick and powerful, solid lines and curves that stand out against his pale colouring, while others are thin and fragile, coiling about in perfect little arcs. The lines, no matter their shape or width, follow in a pattern that flows with his body, making the design look natural and at peace with his physique.

Kurt can't wait for it to heal so he can see it without the deep red of the skin around – the dark blacks, blues and greens will contrast wonderfully with his skin.

"Your dad is going to freak," says Puck as he appears at Kurt's side.

Kurt gives the other man an aborted glance and shakes his head. "No – my dad is never going to know." His eyes dance over the design on his skin for a moment longer and then he turns away, looking slightly up to meet Puck's eyes at last. "And if he ever does, he won't be able to do anything about it." He is over the age of consent for this, after all.

Puck nods and gives him a smug smile. "This is so awesome."

"Mm hum," Kurt agrees. "Are you ready?"

Puck looks like the question is a personal affront to his manliness. "Dude. Of course I am."

Kurt lifts one brow sardonically and looks over at the table where the artist is setting up unopened packages with needles and various other implements, replacing the pillowcase and wiping the black leather table down with disinfectant. Puck follows his gaze and something akin to anxiousness blanks his expression for less than a second before he pulls it back under a façade of assuredness.

"Uh huh," Kurt mutters. "Don't worry babe – I'll hold your hand."


	21. Knap

Knap

Noah Puckerman isn't stupid; he sees things that happen around him, watches the way people interact and react and draws a map of social queues from that. He might not get it right all of the time, and he might not always like what he sees, but he certainly uses it to his advantage.

In the world of high school politics where jocks and cheerleaders are at the top of the proverbial dung-heap and the nerds and social outcasts at the bottom, there are certain things that he has learned to expect of certain people. Take someone like Jacob Ben Israel for instance – the jocks and the people who rule the school can beat him into submission, have him grovelling if they want. He's mouldable like clay.

But then there are people like Hummel. At first he had thought that the little scrawny kid with fancy shoes and outlandish outfits would crumble under the pressure - would melt like butter under the intense heat of the social hierarchy. But he never did.

The thing about Hummel, and this took Puck a while to figure out, is that he is made of _rock_. The boy just bounces back from the hardest of hits and keeps on moving, keeping his shape and his head held high. But there are weaknesses in him; small and patterned in a way that only those who know what to look for can find. No matter how hard a clumsy hammer smashes at him – dumpster tosses and horrible slurs – they don't damage him. They might leave a little scratch, but those can be polished away.

It's the people who know how to wield their blows, know exactly where they need to hit Hummel to make him crack and split into pieces, which really get to him. And Puck has seen that happen only a few times – even then Hummel would come back all the stronger.

Puck has taken to thinking of Hummel as made of some kind of stone – chert or more specifically flint – breaking under the pressure of the world's hate only to be shaped into something sharper, stronger, with every hit.

Something about it, about Hummel, stirs a kind of fascination in Puck's chest; draws his eyes in interest and makes him want to be closer to the other boy. It is the same kind of attraction that he felt to Lauren, to Santana, and Puck knows what it is the moment he clearly feels it for the first time.

He is attracted to Hummel's strength, wants to be near it and with it – with him – and it makes Puck wish that he could find his own pit of strength to draw from. So that he could do something about it.

Puck's not weak, he's a freaking badass, and he knows that one of these days he's gonna go for what he wants.


	22. Home

Home

The door is plain and white with little adornment – the doorbell is slightly crooked and the porch light is burnt out. There is nothing outstanding about the structure, nothing that sets it apart from any of the other buildings nearby, except maybe the missing window shutter on the right side.

But despite the lack of eccentric appearance or of anything that would make it seem unique, this little house is special.

Kurt licks his lips nervously as he walks up the cement pathway to the front porch, hands fidgeting uncharacteristically with the bottom of his shirt. His eyes seem to be trapped, caught by the building in front as though it was some priceless artefact.

"It's beautiful," Kurt breathes, blinking slowly and smiling.

A laugh sounds to his side, and Noah moves into step with him. "Not really."

A short burst of laughter catches in Kurt's throat and he sends one hand out to lightly smack Noah in the stomach. "It is. You can't deny it."

Noah bends over in an over exaggerated movement and lets out an 'oof', and Kurt rolls his eyes at the antic. As he straightens back up, Noah says, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sure it'll look great once we fix it up a little."

Kurt loves decorating; with his physical experience of working in his dad's garage and helping him do renovations on their house mixed with his wonderful taste in all things aesthetic, this will be a pleasurable task. But that isn't why he is so happy, so content, with this.

"I can't believe it."

Noah looks at him, confused. "I thought you liked this one – I thought we had decided –"

"No, no," Kurt cuts him off. "It's just – I can't believe we have this. That we – we have a home together." The word 'home' ignites something bright and powerful in Kurt's chest.

Noah's face transforms from worried confusion to satisfied, and he wraps an easy arm around Kurt. "Believe it, princess. Because I'm pretty sure we both signed enough contracts that I lost my soul somewhere in there. Not to mention my salary."

Laughing lightly, Kurt wraps his own arm around Noah in return so that they are standing, surrounded by brown-splotched green grass, as mirrors of one another. "But it was worth it."

Noah turns to him, a smile tugging his lips up, and says, "It sure is." He then leans over and places a light kiss on Kurt's lips. The contact is short and light and comfortable through familiarity, and when they pull away they stand looking at their new home. At their new future. Together.


	23. Sombre Eyes

Sombre Eyes

Kurt closes the front door behind him and lets his jacket fall from his shoulders. He hangs it absently, eyes staring ahead at nothing as he thinks of everything. There is a set to his shoulders, like a heavy weight has been placed there, and it curls him inward and gives him the appearance of a much greater age.

His feet tread lightly on the hallway as he moves into the living room, the material of his socks sliding easily across glossed hardwood. The sound of Noah moving about in the house draws Kurt into the kitchen, and he finds the man rummaging in the fridge, baggy jeans hanging from his solid hips and white muscle shirt riding up just a little on one side.

Kurt stands and watches for a moment, lets his eyes take in the form before him, the man who he can't imagine his life without – well, not without thinking of it as a half-life – and feels tiredness wash over him. There must have been something about how it affected him, maybe he sighed or maybe he slumped even further, because Noah straightens up suddenly and turns around, a smile on his face. It dies as he sees Kurt, the happy and welcoming lines fading and clouding over like the sun disappearing behind the horizon.

"Hey babe," Noah says, kicking the fridge closed as he walks to Kurt, "what's going on?"

Kurt stays silent, his words caught behind his wish to keep calm and collected, so instead he grips Noah in a tight embrace, arms wrapping around strong, lean shoulders and cheek resting against the side of Noah's neck.

"Are you okay?" Noah's voice vibrates between them.

Nodding, Kurt presses in just a little bit closer, trying to hold Noah so that all he can feel in the world is him. For a moment all he knows is the way Noah's arms hold him back, the sound of Noah's heartbeat and his breathes which are synced with his own, and the way that Noah is the only thing that feels good, feels right, in the world.

Noah leans his head to rest against Kurt's hair, his ear brushing over Kurt's in a light movement that sends tingles running down the long length of his neck. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Kurt closes his eyes as tears start to build, prickling along the edges of his eyes and catching in his lashes, and shakes his head. "Not really."

Noah sighs as he nods. "Okay. Okay."

Sometimes Kurt doesn't want to rail against the world, scream at the injustices and the pain it inflicts; sometimes, he just wants to feel love and acceptance. Sometimes he just wants to be held in the arms of the man he loves and forget about anything and everything that tries to crush him.

This is not the first time that Kurt has come home and just held on to Noah, a bundle of emotions – sadness, hate, grief and so many more – all held tight in his chest, and tried to remember that there is good in the world. It most certainly won't be the last.

But it is the first time Kurt has done so without feeling guilty and weak.

Noah leans in close so that he can keep a tight hold on Kurt as they stand in the kitchen, late afternoon sunlight flooding around them, and says, "I know, babe. It'll be okay."


	24. Different

Different

He thinks of a man waiting for him in a coffee shop with a wide smile and dark curly hair, thinks of the laughter and the smiles and the kisses. Thinks about how he is wonderful, just not wonderful for him.

Every time he realizes how amazing things could be, how there is something wrong with how he feels, he wishes he could change. It's like a slap to the face to look over into loving eyes and only feel a fraction of that love back – it's there, he can't deny that, but it isn't what he wants, what he needs.

It makes his heart hurt and his mouth pull into a frown when he realizes just how much he wants to change his emotions, smack his fist into his own face to dislodge whatever barrier is stopping him from returning the love. But he can't; he's tried everything he can think of, done everything right (or was it wrong?), but nothing has changed, and he now knows that it never will.

The McKinley glee club is watching him as he stands before them, the sound of Brad plunking at the piano and the band playing at his back, and the knowledge that two hours away a boy is nursing a broken heart filling Kurt. He is awash with relief and with guilt and heartbreak, and maybe most damning, with hope.

"_I wanted to see something that's different  
>Something you said would change in me<br>Wanted to be anything different  
>Everything you would change in me<em>

_Got this way, up front but never true  
>God I'm wrong, it's just the way I am"<em>

Kurt's lungs expand and deflate with the movement of his ribs, stomach tightening and relaxing with his effort. His voice is rough, rougher than it normally is, and he thinks that he might just be able to see the raw emotion pouring from it.

His eyes are stinging, the edges of his lids sticky from the tears he has been holding back, and his hands are alternating between clasping his waist and holding hard around his chest. He wants to hide and to bare himself all at once; throw off the protective mask he has been wearing for too long and let everyone, him, see. Because he can't hide any more and he can't find it in himself to just go for what he really wants.

What he knows could be perfect in a way that isn't one-sided. In a way that won't break his heart from guilt, from the knowledge that he is hurting someone that loves him because he just can't be that person.

He sings the next lyrics as his eyes drift over the faces looking at him, little absent smiles greeting him, until he locks on one particular set. They are staring back, but it's different from the way the others are looking at him, and it lights his heart on fire with anticipation.

"_I'm taking a chance this could be different  
>This could be all I'm waiting for<br>Taking a chance this could be different  
>This could be all I'm waiting for<em>

_Wanted to see something that's different  
>Something you said would change in me<br>Wanted to be anything different  
>Anything you would change in me"<em>

Understanding and something deeper is alight in brown eyes, their owner's face intense and determined like nothing Kurt has ever seen before, and Kurt wonders exactly when this had started. When he and Noah Puckerman had began to build a bond, first of friendship, now of love, that has defied everything he has ever felt before.

It is not the first time that Kurt has loved, not at all, but he knows that this is different, that this time it could be better. It could be something without empty smiles and hollow laughs; this could be filled with passionate kisses and not technique driven bouts of lips pressing together.

Puck's body is slumped back as he watches Kurt, but Kurt can see the way he tenses and the trembling in his arms from the intensity. He knows what Kurt is saying, understands exactly what is passing between them.

Kurt watches as Puck's tongue darts out to play at the corner of his lips, as the stress lines around his eyes disappear with his relaxation, and knows what the answer is. It echoes in his own body as the music tapers off behind him and the last of his voice resonates throughout the room.

"_Something that's different"_


	25. Black Eye

Black Eye

It was an accident, of course it was. But that doesn't mean that Kurt isn't holding a pack of frozen green peas to his face while he sits in a walk-in clinic, pain throbbing through his cheek and into his skull insistently. It doesn't mean that Puck isn't sitting next to him, a burning blush of shame warring with a pallor of sickness on his face.

"I'm so sorry; you have no idea how much."

Kurt closes his eyes and lets the irritation that flows through him run its course before looking over at the other man, one eye piercing while the other is swollen shut. "Shut up, Noah. I know." His voice comes out in a snap, and the flinch it brings makes all of the anger stream out of Kurt, leaving behind only exhaustion and pain. "I'm sorry, Noah. I honestly don't blame you, okay?"

Even as Puck nods, lips pressed tightly together and knuckles whitened from his hold on his knees, Kurt can see the disbelief, the self-recrimination.

"Noah," Kurt says softly, "please look at me." Puck turns a little, but his eyes don't leave him lap, as though he is afraid to tear their gaze away. "Please?"

Finally, and with an intense hesitation, Puck's neck swivels and his eyes, bloodshot and hard, meet Kurt's eye. "What?" he asks roughly.

Kurt licks his lips and his eyebrows pinch together in sympathy. "You can't blame yourself like this. If it was anyone's fault, it was my own."

Puck's hands tighten even more on his knees and he hisses at the motion, right hand instantly loosening its grasp. Blood is spreading beneath his skin on his knuckles, bright and splotchy as it pools.

"That doesn't matter," says Puck, "I was the one who swung without looking, who did that." He points at Kurt's face, at the thick swelling under the cool pack, and runs his uninjured left hand over his mohawk.

Kurt is at loss for words; as much as he would like to assure Noah again and again how much he shouldn't blame himself, Kurt knows that the other man won't listen. Not right now, when it is so fresh and bright in his mind and memory.

"Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt and Puck's heads shoot up at the question, and they stand, Puck holding on to Kurt's upper arm as they move, to follow the nurse into the small room. She indicates a table covered with white tissue paper for Kurt to sit on.

"Doctor Henderson will be in soon," she says and leaves, closing the door behind her.

The small room, walls covered in diagrams, a calendar, several bookshelves with supplies, and one anatomical model, seem to loom over them. Kurt can only see the top of Noah's head as the man sits slumped in a chair and he wishes he could move to him, hold him close and tell him that this won't change anything, won't change how he feels.

The door opens with the slightest of creaks and Kurt looks over to see an older woman, maybe in her late fifties, stepping through. Her hair is brown with many grey streaks and her face shows many years of large laughs and days in the sun – she looks like someone that Kurt would like to know outside of a professional capacity.

"Hello," she says in greeting. "What can I help you with today?"

Kurt nods his own greeting and reluctantly pulls the bag of frozen peas from his face, turning his left eye toward her so she can see clearly. "I just wanted to get this checked out. See if I might need x-rays."

The doctor moves in, eyes intent on Kurt face, and takes in the swelling and fresh bruise. "What happened here?"

Kurt shoots a quick glance at Puck and says, "I was struck in the eye about two hours ago."

Doctor Henderson raises one brow even as she reaches one hand up to gently probe his injured flesh. "With what?"

"A hand," Kurt says awkwardly, watching as Puck's shoulders slump just a little further.

"So you were punched. Don't mince your words – be blunt."

At the doctor's no-nonsense tone, Kurt finds himself nodding. "Yes. I was punched."

"Hmm," Dr. Henderson hums. "It doesn't look like anything is broken, but this can be tricky. Can you still see out of the eye?"

Kurt's vision is watery and blurry at best, but that is probably because of the swelling. "Sort of. Everything is a bit blurry."

"Understandable," the doctor says. "Now – I really must ask – was this domestic violence? The hit was obviously quite hard to do this sort of damage."

Kurt is shaking his head before she has finished speaking. "No. It was a complete accident, I assure you."

Dr. Henderson's eyes flash to Puck, who has been silent since she entered the room, and to the hand that he has cradled in his lap. "Okay," she says hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes – you really don't have to worry."

She looks at Kurt intensely for a moment, eyes searching his face for something, but then seems to accept his answer. "Alright then. Since I can't tell for sure if there is any damage to the bone, I'm going to send you for an x-ray. Just give me a minute and I'll have a requisition."

She stands and leaves in a twirl of loose professional clothes and comfortable runners, the door coming closed behind her.

Kurt instantly hops off of the examination table and comes to stand before Puck, hands reaching down to push the man's shoulders back so that he is sitting straight. Kurt then gently sits himself down in Puck's lap, bum settled on one of Puck's heavily muscled thighs, and wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"I love you," he says, voice muffled by Puck's shirt.

Puck reacts immediately, wrapping his own arms around Kurt in turn and chest hitching. "I'm sorry. I love you, too. It'll never happen again, not on accident or on purpose."

"Aw, Noah," Kurt sighs, "I've never worried about you hurting me. I won't start now, certainly not because of this. Okay?"

Puck nods, cheek brushing against Kurt's soft hair, and he presses a kiss into the side of Kurt's head, careful not to put any pressure on his left side. "Yeah. Okay."

Doctor Henderson finds them like that mere seconds later when she walks back in the door, requisition form firmly in hand.


	26. MeetingsShaving

Meetings

"Come on," Kurt says, hand pulling at the hand clasped in his. "You can do this. He's really not that scary."

Puck scowls at him from the corner of his eyes and keeps his face turned toward the Hummel home. The light radiating from the widows catches in his eyes and sends their colour dancing with clarity and brightness. And fear. "Are you nuts? Of course he is!"

Kurt scoffs. "What happened to you being a badass? Doesn't your irrational fear of one man kind of mess with your image?"

Puck's fingers tighten their grasp a little, not enough to hurt, and he says, "I think I'm allowed to be a little intimidated, dude."

"But why?" Kurt's voice shines with exasperation.

"Because your dad's like Bowser. He's one scary dude."

Little giggles puff from Kurt's lips as they ascend the front walkway toward his house for their first Friday night dinner as a couple. "Just don't call me Peach."

Puck smirks. "Whatever you say, princess."

Shaving

"Uh-oh."

Puck jolts forward in his seat and turns his head toward Kurt, who is standing behind him. "What? No. No 'uh-oh'. What's 'uh-oh' mean?"

Kurt's lips are puckered into an apologetic grimace and his brows are tugged tightly together. In his right hand he holds an electric shaver. "Umm," he says, "I might have – uh."

Puck's eyes are growing wider with every second. "You might have what?" At Kurt's continued silence, Puck brings a hand up and runs it up his mohawk, starting at the back of his neck and feeling the soft bristles of hair that stripe up the back of his head to – oh no. "No way," he gasps out.

Kurt is now biting his lip nervously, and at Puck's wild glance he shrugs his shoulders. "I'm sorry. It just kind of happened."

Puck jumps from his chair and scrambles for the bathroom, socked feet slipping on the linoleum, saying behind him, "It 'just kind of happened'? How the hell does something like this 'just kind of happen'?"

The bathroom door explodes open under Puck's mad movements and the light flickers on with one swift flick of his fingers. The sight that stares back at him drops his jaw in horror.

There, just at the crest of his head where that stupid freckle exists, is a pale bald patch spanning across the length of his mohawk, bisecting the stripe of hair cleanly. "Holy shit," he breathes out, air shucked from his chest. "You've maimed me!"

A noise, surprised and muffled, comes from Kurt's direction and Puck pivots to look at his boyfriend. "You think this is funny?"

Kurt has one hand clasped over his lips and his brows are trembling as though he is trying to restrain their movement but failing. "No," he says as he takes his hand away. "Not at all. It's – you'd think that I had cut a limb off or something, with the way you're reacting."

Puck glares at the pale man, one hand coming up to scour the patch of missing hair delicately. "You ruined my 'hawk. That's worse."

"Oh Noah – it'll grow back." Kurt looks sympathetic, but there is still mirth in his blue-green-grey eyes.

"Yeah," says Puck, "and until then I'm going to look like a loser. You are never going near my hair again."

Kurt comes up to Puck and pats his shoulder. "Maybe next time you should go to the salon like I said you should." Kurt hands the barely-used electric razor to Puck with a rueful smile and leaves the devastated man to observe his maimed head in the mirror.


	27. Trust

A/N: this is a prequel of sorts for the drabble 'Black Eye' in this set.

Trust

Kurt slips out of bed silently and the covers drag over his exposed skin with nary a rasp. The floor is cold on his feet and goosebumps rise on his flesh as his sleep-warm skin meets the early-morning air of the bedroom.

He makes his way to the kitchen, arms crossed in front of his chest, and pours a short glass of water from a container in the fridge. The liquid is cool and refreshing, wetting his dry throat and soothing the last vestiges of sleep from his mind as it passes his lips.

There is the sound of birds singing outside and the first rays of golden sunshine are peaking over the short trees in the backyard, illuminating the summer landscape. Nearly having to rip his eyes from the sight, Kurt sets the empty glass on the counter and makes his way back to the bedroom.

Kurt pauses in the doorway and stares, transfixed by the view before him. Puck is sprawled on the right side of the bed laying face-down. The muscles of his back and arms, hard and rippling, yet soft with sleep, are highlighted by the sun filtering through the window above him. The golden rays catch of the ridges and cast shadows across the planes of his skin, painting it bronze and black in the dim light.

Wanting to be closer, Kurt pads silently over to Puck's side of the bed; he is instantly thankful that he has done so because Puck's face is turned toward him and is bathed in the shimmering sunlight. Every feature of his face is lit up and visible in crystal clarity, right down to the pores of his cheeks and the light dusting of stubble lining his jaw.

Unable to stay so far away, Kurt moves in until he is standing beside Puck and kneels down, bringing their faces close together so that he can peruse Puck's features more fully.

His eyes seize on the delicate arch of Puck's brows and his fingers lift almost absently to run over the contour of them.

The pain is sudden and brilliant, flashing over Kurt like a thousand needles piercing him all at once, and his vision is suddenly alight with a bright white explosion, something like a star going nova, that accompanies a loud 'crack' as it echoes in his head. His back hits a solid surface, a wall or a floor, he can't tell, and Kurt hears someone cry out. It takes him a moment to realize that it is him.

As the last of the bright light extinguishes from behind his lids, Kurt hears the whisper of sheets falling from the bed and a 'thud' as something large lands beside him. His vision is now black and spotted, like he has gone for too long without eating and has quickly stood up, and so when a warm hand grabs his wrist and pulls his hand from its position covering his face, he jumps and groans.

"I'm sorry – I'm sorry. Let me see."

It's Puck's voice in his ear and Puck's hands on him, and Kurt is confused and desperate to know what has just happened. "What?"

"Shh. I just need to look." And then two hands are cupping Kurt's face and turning his head to the side. "Shit."

"Noah? What happened?" Kurt is able to see Puck as he kneels beside him on the floor next to their bed, but one of his eyes, his left, is cloudy and full of tears. Most of the pain radiates outward from it.

"I didn't mean to," Puck says, pleading and angry and confused. "I don't know what happened – I just reacted."

Moaning as waves of pain wash over his eye and the surrounding bones, Kurt braces a hand behind himself and pushes up so that he is not slumped against the wall any longer. "Okay. It's okay – just give me a minute."

"Shit," Puck says again. "We need to get some ice on that. It's already starting to swell."

Kurt nods and regrets the movement at once as it sends his head throbbing and spinning. "Yeah," he says after he has recovered his equilibrium. "Kitchen."

Two strong hands hold him gently around the upper arms and pull him into a standing position, and Kurt stumbles a little as they move as one through the bedroom and hallway into the kitchen. It is a relief to be sat in one of the wooden chairs there.

"There's a new bag of peas in the freezer – they'll work good."

Puck nods at Kurt's suggestion and reaches into the freezer, pulls out the green bag, and wraps the plastic in a hand towel. "Here." He hands the cold pack to Kurt with his right hand.

It isn't until this moment, as Puck hands Kurt the bag of peas, that Kurt realizes what happened. Puck's knuckles are bright red and swelling fast, his hand's movements tight with pain. "You punched me," he says without thinking.

Puck's face goes rigid and his eyes crinkle at the words. He doesn't seem to be able to respond – there is something agonizing behind his eyes and he is avoiding touching the skin of his knuckles like it is dangerous. The mental pain that Kurt can see in Puck doubles his own physical pain at least once over.

Hissing as he brings the towel-wrapped peas to his face, Kurt moves to stand; he is relieved when the room stays stable in his vision. Puck is standing still, unsure, and as Kurt comes close to him he shies away slightly, leaving Kurt to feel deeply, profoundly, sad for the man. "It's okay," he says. "We'll be okay."

* * *

><p>AN: Well - it has been an amazing month of Puckurt awesomeness. I have been so, so thankful for every review/comment, which always give me motivation, and I can't even express how much I appreciate each and every word in them.

I'm sad to see this month end, but I hope everyone who read these enjoyed doing so as much as I enjoyed writing them. :)


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